Highland Warlord - Amy Jarecki Page 0,75

was Ailish.

Raising his great sword above his head, he addressed the post and slowly lowered the blade until it touched the wood. His arms trembled with his weakness, but James bore down and clenched his forearms until the trembling stopped. Closing his eyes, he blocked all pain from his mind. He intended to massacre this bloody post if it killed him.

Bellowing the Douglas war cry, he spun in place and slammed the blade into the column with every sinew of strength in his body. Pain shot through his shoulders while the force of the strike reverberated all the way up to his eyeballs, rattling in his head until he saw stars.

Again, James glanced behind. Thank the good Lord no one had seen him make an arse of himself. He’d been daft to think he could best the post in one deathly swing. He should have begun with a sparring pattern before he tried to smash the devil out of a solid oak pole most likely driven six feet into the ground. For all James knew, it had been there so long it had petrified.

After drawing in a few deep breaths, James again addressed his unforgiving opponent. With both hands, he struck the column from side to side, chipping away the wood. Initially, his muscles burned, but James gritted his teeth and worked through the pain. Bested by a piece of wood?

Not this day.

Not ever.

Still, as he fought, his legs trembled like a weak old man.

Ailish came into view in his periphery, toting an armful of hay. She tossed it on the ground and whistled. “Come, sheep!” she called as the flock headed her way with happy bleats at the prospect of a meal. And knowing Ailish, she was most likely giving the beasts far more than the monks did.

James’ heart skipped a beat when she looked at him.

But rather than smile, he quickly addressed the post and lunged, striking with his most deadly “kill” maneuver. Nearly blinded by the pain from his recent branding, James tightened his abdominals to keep his hands from shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her retreat as he reverted to the warm-up routine.

Nonetheless, he sensed her eyes on him. With a heightened sense of awareness, he put everything he could muster into murdering the post—reaching high, chopping his blade downward while dropping to one knee. James gnashed his teeth and brutally attacked. Damnation, the piece of oak didn’t stand a chance.

He imagined himself in the midst of a battlefield, fighting for his life, swallowing down bile as his wound tortured him. Ailish was watching and he’d not be bested by a mere post. He swung his blade from side to side. He darted and spun, wielding the weapon with expert finesse as he’d been trained. And as he worked, he grew stronger and more self-assured. James planted his foot. Holding the sword low, he spun with an upward slice. The tip of the post sailed through the air.

He stopped and chuckled, turning the hilt in his hands. Wiping the sweat from his brow on his sleeve, he glanced back. There she stood, giving him a wee wave and a smile.

Though his arms grew suddenly heavy, he responded with a lopsided grin. He would regain his strength, if not for himself, for her.

***

The day after James began his recovery, he and Davy began riding on twice-daily patrols. He’d told Ailish they were scouting the lands around the monastery to ensure the Lord Warden’s men were not tracking them and, though he hadn’t lied, his main purpose was to intercept Caelan and the Annandale man. Twice, Ailish had acted against his orders and, though he knew she meant well, he mustn’t allow her to do so again.

“Look yonder,” said Davy as they crested a hill to the south. “And not a day too soon.”

James cued his mount for a canter and met them at the crossing of a trickling burn. “Hello, men, we’ve been expecting you.”

Caelan reined his steed to a stop. “Och, you’re looking a mite better than the last time I saw ye.”

James rubbed his shoulder, just above the tenderness. “I wouldn’t mind living out the rest of my days without succumbing to a firebrand again.”

“I reckon it saved ye,” said Davy.

James nodded to Lachlan. “So, you hail from Annandale?”

“Aye, sir. I was a castle guard for Robert the Bruce until the Prince of Wales laid siege to her walls.”

“We’ll win her back. Mayhap not today, but soon.” James gave his